I want Daphne Guinness’ Alexander McQueen outfit, and the invisible sword that presumably goes with it. And a moderately-sized vat of gin, STAT; this is a medical emergency. We lost to the US in an Olympic hockey game for the first time since 1960, and all of Canada is in bed, drunk and sobbing and holding on to it’s little Troll doll for dear life; all of Canada except me. Someone has to blog this pain away. I am in no mood to be trifled with, except perhaps by Hugh Jackman, and he should wear body armour just to be safe.

Which reminds me of the time I was walking down The Drive and saw this guy dressed head to toe in camo. Camo shoes, pants, jacket, tee, hat, and backpack. I deliberately bumped into him and said, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you.”

Annoyingly wholesome, I know, but I’m supposed to be on a liquid fast in solidarity with the homeless no lie so I’m trying to make this as painless as possible. I’m allowed all the blended-beyond-solidity smoothies I can suck down before the homeless have houses or I pass out or my bowels explode, whichever comes first. Whenever it gets too painful, I console myself with the realization that Redbreast is a liquid too!

The infamous Brandy Alexander has the unique distinction of being the first drink of which my mother ever consumed an excess. She’d been assured that the cream would coat her tummy so the brandy wouldn’t hit her too hard. Been assured. By a liar.

She remembers throwing her shoes off the cliff above St. Tropez and her new husband having to step around nude couples on the beach looking for them after he climbed down, and, frankly, not much after that for the next three days.

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Manolo the Shoeblogger is not Mr. Manolo Blahnik. This website is not affiliated in any way with Mr. Manolo Blahnik, any products bearing the federally registered trademarks MANOlO®, BlAHNIK® or MANOlO BlAHNIK®, or any licensee of said federally registered trademarks. The views expressed on this website are solely those of the author.